Chapter 50 Family Secrets

Chapter 50 Family Secrets

POV: Elizabeth

I couldn’t breathe properly.

My father. The man who’d taught me the difference between right and wrong, who’d instilled in me an almost obsessive sense of ethics. That man had been secretly working with Helen Morrison for six months.

“I need to see the evidence,” I said, my voice hollow. “All of it.”

Walsh pulled up files on her tablet and slid it across the table.

Photos first. My father meeting Helen at various locations—coffee shops, park benches, a restaurant I recognized near his university. In every photo, they looked like professional acquaintances having ordinary conversations.

Except they weren’t ordinary.

“The bank transfers,” Walsh continued, pulling up financial records. “Two hundred thousand dollars, paid in increments over six months. Fifty thousand initially, then monthly payments of twenty-five thousand each.”

The numbers swam before my eyes. Fifty thousand was exactly what Helen had paid Angela Martinez to attack Jessica. The symmetry felt deliberate. Cruel.

“The emails.” Walsh showed me printed exchanges. My father’s Columbia email address corresponding with an account registered under a fake name investigators had traced back to Helen.

I read them with growing horror.

Subject: Q2 Projections
Robert: Per our discussion, Sterling Corp is projecting 12% growth in Asian markets but significant vulnerability in European manufacturing due to supply chain issues. The board is divided on whether to invest in expansion or consolidation.

Subject: Executive Movements
Robert: Sterling hired three new VPs this month. Royce is restructuring the leadership team. There’s internal disagreement about the direction; some think he’s moving too fast.

Information I’d shared in casual conversation. Complaints about work stress. Discussions about Royce’s strategic decisions. Things I’d never imagined would be weaponized.

“Your father maintains he believed this was routine business intelligence,” Walsh said. “He claims Helen presented herself as a potential Sterling Corp partner conducting due diligence for a legitimate merger opportunity.”

“Did he really not know?” I asked, desperate for my father to be less guilty than he appeared.

“He says no. But Miss Wakefield, your father is a finance professor. He understands corporate law. The moment money changed hands—when he began providing confidential information without Sterling Corp’s knowledge or consent—he crossed legal lines. Whether he understood Helen’s ultimate intentions is almost irrelevant to the charges.”

Marcus touched my arm gently. “Liz, you don’t have to answer more questions about this right now. We can take a break.”

“No.” I looked directly at Walsh. “What do you need from me?”

“I need you to confirm these photos are authentic. That this is genuinely your father meeting with Helen Morrison. I need you to explain how your father would have obtained the information in these emails. And I need you to tell me honestly whether you ever suspected his involvement.”

Sarah started to object, but I cut her off.

“The photos are real. That’s my father.” Each word felt like betrayal, but I forced them out anyway. “The information in the emails came from me. Not directly, not intentionally. But I talked to my father about work. About Sterling Corp’s operations. About challenges Royce was facing. I trusted him completely.”

“Did he ever ask leading questions? Press for specific information?”

I thought back over the past six months—dozens of conversations over dinners, phone calls, casual visits.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “He seemed more interested in Sterling Corp than usual. But I thought he was just trying to connect with me. Trying to understand my life.” My voice cracked. “I never imagined he’d use anything I said to hurt Royce.”

“Did you ever give your father documents? Files? Anything physical from Sterling Corp?”

“No. Never. Everything he knew came from conversations.” I paused. “But I have access to confidential files. If I mentioned specific details—projects, numbers—in casual conversation, he could have reconstructed a lot from that.”

Walsh nodded, making notes.

“And you had no knowledge that your father was communicating with Helen Morrison?”

“None. If I’d known, I would have stopped him immediately.” Tears burned my eyes. “My father isn’t a bad man. Helen manipulated him. She used his guilt about Jessica, his financial stress from her legal fees, his desperation to help his family. She exploited every vulnerability.”

“That may be true,” Walsh said quietly. “But it doesn’t change what he did. The information your father provided helped Helen Morrison orchestrate a hostile takeover that nearly destroyed Sterling Corp. She used his intelligence to identify weaknesses, target board members, and time her moves for maximum impact.”

“What happens to him now?”

“He’s been arrested. Currently in federal custody. If he cooperates fully, testifies against Helen, and pleads guilty, we might recommend a reduced sentence. Five to seven years instead of fifteen.”

Five years.

My father would be seventy when he was released. His career destroyed. His reputation ruined. His retirement years spent in prison—because Helen Morrison had turned his love for his daughters into a weapon.

“Can I see him?” I asked.

“Not until your deposition is complete. And even then, only with supervision.” Walsh closed the files. “Miss Wakefield, I appreciate your honesty. I know this is devastating. But your testimony, combined with your father’s cooperation, gives us everything we need to ensure Helen Morrison spends the rest of her life in prison.”

“Good.” The word came out fierce. “She deserves that.”

We finished the deposition forty minutes later. By the time Sarah confirmed I was free to go, evening had fallen.

I walked out of the federal building feeling like I’d aged ten years.

Marcus waited outside while Sarah handled the final paperwork.

“Royce is still in court,” Marcus said gently. “The judge hasn’t ruled yet on the board vote appeal. He’s been texting every twenty minutes asking about you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were strong. That you handled everything perfectly.” He paused. “Liz, he knows about your father. The prosecutor informed him hours ago. He’s not angry at you.”

“How could he not be? My father helped destroy his company.”

“Your father was manipulated. Royce understands that.” Marcus put his arm around my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“I need to see my parents. My mother must be—”

I stopped, pulling out my phone. Seven missed calls from my mother. Three voicemails I’d had to ignore during the deposition.

I called her back. She answered on the first ring.

“Elizabeth.” Her voice was raw with crying. “Where are you?”

“Federal building. I just finished testifying. Mom, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about Dad. I swear I didn’t know—”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” She took a shaky breath. “Elizabeth, you need to come to Mercy Hospital. Right now.”

My blood ran cold.

“Why? What happened?”

“Your father.” She broke down completely, sobbing. “They arrested him this morning. Took him to federal detention. He was there for three hours before they let him make a phone call.”

“Mom, what happened?”

“He called me. Told me he loved me. Told me to tell you and Jessica he was sorry.” Her voice shattered. “Then he hung up. And before the guards could stop him, he…”

She couldn’t finish.

But she didn’t have to.

“No.” The word came out strangled. “No, Mom. Tell me he didn’t—”

“He tried to kill himself an hour ago.” The words came in gasps. “Used his belt. The guards found him in time, but Elizabeth, he’s in bad shape. They rushed him here to Mercy Hospital. He’s in the ICU.”

The sidewalk tilted under my feet. Marcus caught me before I fell.

“Is he alive?” I demanded. “Mom, is he alive?”

“Yes. But the doctors don’t know if he’ll make it. There was oxygen deprivation. Brain damage. They won’t know the extent until he wakes up. If he wakes up.” She sobbed harder. “Elizabeth, please. I need you here. I can’t do this alone.”

“I’m coming. I’m coming right now.”

I looked at Marcus desperately. “Mercy Hospital. We need to go.”

He was already pulling out his keys, guiding me toward his car.

As we drove through the city, my phone buzzed with a text from Royce.

Judge ruled against us. The board vote stands. I’m no longer CEO of Sterling Corp. On my way to you now. Where are you?

I typed back with shaking hands.

My father tried to kill himself. At Mercy Hospital. Everything is falling apart.

Three dots appeared immediately, showing he was typing.

Then they disappeared.

No response came.

I stared at my phone, waiting. Needing something—anything—from him. Some assurance that we’d survive this. That there was a way through.

But the screen stayed blank.

And as Marcus pulled into the hospital parking lot, I realized we’d finally reached the breaking point—where even love might not be enough to hold us together.